If it wasn’t for milk, peanut butter, and bananas, I don’t think I would have two children. They’d be mere facsimilies of children: wispy ghost-like creatures. Those three items compose roughly half their diet. Sure, sure, you may come over for dinner and observe the four of us at the table: silverware, cloth napkins, homemade fare in all food groups, delicate cucumber salads and teriyaki chicken standing by. However if you were to observe regularly you would see that three days out of five, the kids pick at or selectively nosh on only part of the dinner. An x-ray view of their taut, puppy-like tummies would reveal: Milk. Peanut butter. Banana. Half a cubic centimeter of room remaining for any particular dinner dish.
But you know, should those items not be available, the children can show remarkable resources at feeding themselves. Example. An hour ago I came upstairs to find The Boy eating oatmeal out of the garbage can. He looks at me: “Hung-ee!” Whoops. Bad Mama, yet again.